Ami glared up at the douchebag whose cock was currently filling her mouth, watching him gesticulate as he enthused to another houseguest about the brew in his hand as she slid her tongue along the shaft of his cock. When she had agreed to bet a week of sexual slavery with Kurt on a card game, she hadn't realized that the Hipster Douche she'd serviced to fulfill her bets that night was also accompanied by three other smugly ironic hipsters crashing at Kurt and Jenny's place. Kurt, intent on being a good host, had welcomed them to use her as their fucktoy, providing them with marginally more rules about the use of her body than he had laid down about the use of the fridge. When considering Kurt's rules about the coffee maker and freezer, Ami realized their guests had more restrictions on what they did when using the kitchen than when using her pussy.
After her initial fornication-based introductions to the houseguests, she had mentally christened each of them with a descriptive epithet, as much out of spite as any desire to distinguish them. Hipster Douche retained his title, joined by Insufferable Vegan Girl, Audiophile Asshole, and Craft Beer Jerk, the last of whom was still slowly thrusting his dick in and out of Ami's mouth. Ami tried to use her skilled tongue to provoke gasps or moans, as much to get him to shut up as to speed things up, but he seemed intent on prolonging this blowjob as much as his slowly-savored beer. And so Ami knelt before him patiently, allowing him to use her mouth at his own pace, feeling his cock slide along her tongue as he extolled the virtues of his overpriced and overflavored beer to Insufferable Vegan Girl. She nodded along, reaching down to pet Ami's head as Craft Beer Jerk's cock began to leak precum onto Ami's tongue. Ami rolled her eyes at the phrase 'flavor profile' and tried to figure out if gimp masks had earholes, and, if not, how to get Kurt to buy her one just so she didn't have to listen to this jackass prattle on while she sucked his cock.
Finally, at long last, his thrusts in Ami's mouth began to speed up, and his mind seemed to wander from his conversation. Insufferable Vegan Girl looked down at Ami, watching her face with interest as her lips tightened around Craft Beer Jerk's cock.
"Mmmmph, almost there," Craft Beer Jerk muttered before glancing to Insufferable Vegan Girl, "Where should I finish? Her face? Her mouth?" Ami tried to focus on using her tongue to bring him to climax, rather than listening to them casually discuss where on her body he would mark her with his cum.
"Oh, you know what would be totally retro?" Insufferable Vegan Girl enthused after a moment's thought, "a pearl necklace!" Ami scowled around Craft Beer Jerk's cock at the thought of her final degradation of this act being selected for such as quintessentially hipster reason, but consoled herself that at least she wouldn't have to taste his seed spurting into her mouth. As his cock thrust ever faster into her mouth, she had to suppress a smile at the thought of pretending to savor his semen in her mouth while mockingly describing it in similarly overwrought and pretentious terms to his beer.
Finally, Craft Beer Jerk pulled his dick out of her mouth and began to stroke it as his orgasm approached, and Ami obediently leaned back, thrusting her tits out while tilting her head back, presenting her chest as a cavass to pain with his jizz. After a few ore moments of masturbation, Craft Beer Jerk groaned loudly, and Ami could feel a jet of his hot seed land on her throat and chest. Another jet sprayed her chest again, followed by two more which landed on her breasts, and a final, weaker spurt which landed on her knee. She could smell the musk of his semen filling the air, and feel as the cooling liquid slid down her skin. A thick glob of sperm slipped down her breast and came to rest on her nipple, and Ami gasped in a shock of pleasure as she felt Insufferable Vegan Girl lick it off before standing up and giggling.
As she knelt in the center of the room, her body splattered with Craft Beer Jerk's seed, she was dimly aware of the sound of a car pulling up outside, and a faint sense of familiarity. A recollection of something important floated at the edge of her mind, evading her mental grasp until it finally hit her: band practice! And with Jenny here, that meant the car could only be Trent!
Trent was the newest addition to their band, a drummer who far surpassed their prior bandmate in a number of ways, most notably dedication, musical talent, and not being addicted to PCP. More saliently, he was the spitting image of the late Kurt Cobain, and the sight of him always gave Ami a lovely twinge between her legs. She'd been getting bolder in her advances with each practice session, and his receptive responses had culminated in a rather deliberately-timed admission that he was single. Ami had planned on making her move after this practice, but that had been before a night of poorly-planned wagers had led to her current state.
